


Welcome to the Night Sky

by ryukoishida



Series: Sunlight Frenzy. Endless Tales. [11]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:31:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“People are always watching, Your Majesty,” Elam reminds him firmly, though his tone is soft and without real ire. “You must take care to watch your words and action when you are in public.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to the Night Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was from… awhile back. In December? I apologize for the lack of writing lately. Let’s just say this takes place some time in the second arc when Arslan and Elam are 18 and 17. 
> 
> Prompt: B. Under cover of darkness; Arslan (+Elam)

Arslan’s day starts before the sun climbs up the horizon, before the birds can trill their melodies at the break of dawn. After he cleans himself and puts on some fresh clothes, he trots down to the courtyard, where he can usually see Daryun already swinging his sword with a relaxed grace, the sharp blade whipping up something fierce in the clammy summer air.

 

After about an hour of sword training with Daryun or some archery practice with Farangis, he’d head back to his chamber for a quick breakfast. Sometimes, Narsus and a few others will join him, but during most mornings, he’s only accompanied by Elam.

 

Arslan thinks that this might be his favourite time of the day.

 

Sunlight scatters into the room in golden strands, casting everything with a sort of fresh vibrancy and soft radiance that can only be bestowed upon by a rare summer day with no clouds in sight.

 

A small platter of freshly-baked Lavash flatbread topped with creamy feta cheese and dollops of fig preserves, and a cup of sweet tea are set before him, the subtle yet enticing scent reminding Arslan of how early Elam must have woken up in order to prepare this everyday.

 

Without their mentor and the other Marzbans, Elam seems more at ease around the silver-haired king, but whenever Arslan signals him over with a flick of his head and a genuine smile – a silent invitation to sit with him at the table big enough to fit ten – Elam almost always shakes his head with adamancy and insists that it’s not proper for him to sit beside the Shah during meal times.   

 

On most days, Elam’s persistence wins out, and they would each eat in respective silence. But every so often – such occasion so rare that it makes Arslan’s heart soar a little and lends his cheeks a healthy glow when it does happen – Elam allows himself to succumb to the Shah’s wordless plea. He’s always been helpless against the man’s earnest smile and midnight-blue eyes; there’s no denying it after all these years.

 

“People are always watching, Your Majesty,” Elam reminds him firmly, though his tone is soft and without real ire. “You must take care to watch your words and action when you are in public.” His fingers still but only for a moment as he places his bread delicately back down onto his plate, one hand reaching for his ceramic cup to drain the tea in one gulp; it’s something to occupy his mouth with before he speaks out of line again.

 

“But we’re not in public,” Arslan attempts to pull his companion out of his solemn reverie. He clasps Elam’s hand lightly in his own, their fingers intertwining like roots buried deep in the soil, and like the systematic yet chaotic tangling roots that sustain the tree, Elam’s presence supports and grounds him during times when he thought he’s lost his way in the twists and turns of fate. “Besides –– ”

 

At the pause, Elam forgets their entwined fingers and instead, looks up with a curious frown on his brows. He’s met with a mischievous grin that gradually grows wider.

 

“We’ve done things far beyond innocent touches like this,” Arslan leans in just a degree closer, eyes glimmering almost predatorily, but it’s enough to cause Elam’s heart to beat painfully hard against his ribcage. “Perhaps it’s more beneficial to our minds if we were to let our guard down once in awhile in private…”

 

“Y-Your Majesty, please…” Elam looks like he wants to flee and remain rooted on the spot at the same time; his gaze swivels between the hungry gleam in his liege’s eyes and slightly parted lips, tantalizingly plush and still emanating the gentle scent of roses from his tea. “I-I need to return to my duties quickly… Lord Narsus – he…”

 

His train of thought halts to an abrupt stop when Arslan winds a hand into his ruffled locks and plants a brief kiss on his lips. Just a peck – but Elam wants more, knows that he can’t, not in broad daylight, not like this. So he says nothing, just pulls himself out of his seat with enough force to knock his chair back, murmurs an apology, and excuses himself as he steps out of the room with the dishes.

 

He doesn’t see Arslan’s sheepish grin, or the blush that taints his cheeks, or the way he drags a trembling hand to comb back his forelocks as he heaves a longing sigh.  

 

Under the golden light of the sun and the scrutiny of his people, Arslan has to play the role of a responsible leader of a kingdom that slowly builds itself up again, and he plays it well because he has learned so much from the past few years – from his mistakes, his victories, his comrades, and his enemies – and he thinks, the citizens of Pars needs a capable ruler after all they’ve been through. As long as they call for him, Arslan will be the Shah who leads them forward through bounteous and harsh times.

 

But under the cover of darkness, he can shed off his identity as the Shah, if only for a few, brief hours. He can place a kiss on the brunet’s forehead, and smiles as he watches the blush spreads from his cheeks down to his neck and beyond his collarbone, bronze skin tinted even darker in the flickering of candlelight. He’s allowed to run his fingers along Elam’s chest and slender waist, and draws out sounds and mewls that stirs a storm in Arslan’s heart.

 

Under the cover of darkness, Arslan is free to shower Elam with the love and respect and devotion he deserves.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. I really like writing Arslan as a sinnamon roll, don’t I? Sorry not sorry!


End file.
